


Upon a Midnight Clear

by joy_shines



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Fae & Fairies, How LONG is the longest night?, M/M, Ritual Sex, Wiccanish mythology/theology, and/or gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/pseuds/joy_shines
Summary: King Arthur just wanted to spend the Longest Night with his loved ones at Camelot. He wasn't expecting to find his own Yuletide quest instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mattador](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattador/gifts).



Ex Libris Arthuri Regis Brittaniae

 

‘Tis well known among Christian folk and Pagans alike that the Longest Night is a full magickal tide - our Lord’s birthday approaches, and the world seeks once more to turn from darkness towards the light of the newborn Sun. Indeed, strange and wonderful things are like to happen at Camelot in this season, and it’s many of my knights who have ridden off on a Christmastide quest to return with marvels on his lips in the New Year. This was well in my thoughts as I rode in the swift-dimming twilight with my party of knights, our footsteps turning from our errand back homeward to the welcome fires and feasting of Camelot at those blessed days of Yule and Christmastides. Alas, though, I could see by the fading light that we should not reach our destination ‘ere it was full dark - early enough that was, too, on this day of all days!

We stopped, then, and made our camp for the night. I could not find it in myself to reprove my men for their heartfelt grumbling as we set the tents and lit the fires. Christmastide was still days off yet, and we would arrive well before those rites commenced, so I have no doubt my good Fr. Angelus would have counseled me to offer that consolation to them. Still, although we turn, more and more of us, to kneel before the Cross, all of us yet have the gods of our fathers and mothers in our bones and blood. At home, my knights would have spent this day gathering in the green with their families, and watching through the night, warm by the fires, to see the first rays of the new sun. 

I did not grudge them these disappointments, nor could I, for I shared them. Fain would I have been watching with my lady and my friend for the hope of a new year and the spring to come -- but alas, our lot was a cold bed and meagre rations. We made merry as we might, with tales and songs and mead, shared around the common fire to drive away the cold, then went us each to our cold beds, save those who stood the watch. 

When I wakened, the moon was sailing high in the sky, and all the world was lit with that strange, bright dimness that is moonlight on snow. I cannot say, even now, weeks later, what it was that drew me from my warm couch, drew me to pull on my boots and cloak and venture outside, but I wot well what I saw. My guards - faithful men, not given to shirking duty - sat bent over their spears before the fire. I started, in fear that the cold had overcome them, when I heard it. I have said, it is an uncanny time, this Longest Night, a time when, as our forefathers say, unearthly things may be seen and accomplished. 

It was no man’s voice that spoke to me out of the moonlight, nay, and no angel’s neither, though it said, “Fear not, Ruler of Summer, thy men but sleep! Fear not, Arthur, here is thy night’s quest! Fear not, High King that is and shall be hereafter! Fear not, but come with me” and here, the creature gave a small laugh, stepping into the light of the fire. He - for I could not help but know his sex, though his ebon hair was long as my lady’s - stood before me, brazen and bare, save for furs draped about his person, tied all amok. He was crowned with a rack of antlers, like a fine stag, and twined all in these, and into his hair, were the bright berries and leaves of the holly, and trailing vines of ivy. 

I am shamed to say I was struck dumb. I doubt not that my more pious knights might have crossed them straight away, and bid the fiend to go - but I have not yet forgot the teachings of the Merlin and my own dear mother. My knees did buckle, and I knelt in the snow, proper I thought, even for a king to kneel before such a one as this. But the Hornèd One laughed merrily, quoth he, “Nay, rise! Rise, I say, Summer King! This is thy night of sovereignty, and it’s thou must master me this midnight. Therefore rise to, my lord, and do thy duty for thy land and thy reign and thy new year’s sun!” 

“Surely,” said I, “it is not I that shall master you, good my lord, but ye who have the mastery of me. At this, his face took on a most wanton expression, and the seed of understanding began to grow in my mind. 

“A right generous offer! Very hospitality from the High King, indeed! And I may yet collect, good king, but not this night. Knowst thou not the mystery of the Longest Night?”

“Forsooth,” said I, “my counsellors have told me that this night is when the blessed Mother gives birth to her new Sun. This I understand from Merlin and priest alike, though they may argue on the dates.”

“True enough, and yet not so true as it might be. True that there is a birth into the heavens, but also there is, too, a contest upon the earth. The dark time is holly time, good king, red berry time, thorn time, blood on snow time. The oak leaves fall, and the forest has naught to garb herself but the green and red of holly and the twining of the ivy. A bleak time, my lord, is my time, but this night, the tide turns, and the sap begins to stir with the new sun. That is,” and here, he lowered his lashes, coy as any maiden, “it shall stir if thou bestir it in conquering me, my lord. For thou art an oaken king, a summer king, providing shade to all in your demesne and lush bounty in thy prime, but thy time is brief as summer, and thy leaves, too, shall fall.” 

I bethought me that I grew to see his meaning - but I could not compass it. “But surely ye would scorn to lay down your sovereignty so freely - and to a mortal such as myself! 

“Thou wouldst not say such foolishness if thou but kenned the joys of surrender! Hastou never enjoyed a fellow man, branches enlacing?” His hands were in my hair, now, and I found mine own settling on his narrow waist. “Hastou only taken thy root in the womanly earth? Know now the hidden mystery of this longest of nights: T’would not be so long, fair king, did I not go to my defeat so willing.”

With these words he approached me, strong hands raising me to my feet. His eyes were dark as the sky above us, and seemed, too, to hold stars within them. “Rule, then, while thou hast the power. Thou hast conquered by the sword at thy side - wilt thou not also show true with the sword of thy loins?” The Hornèd One pressed all against my body, that I might feel his own sword, as I had seen it, standing proud beneath his furs. Winter was it still in the forest, but my limbs burned as under a summer sun, and I could not find my breath. 

There, on my spread cloak, there did he doff his furs as though the cold was nothing (and sooth to say, neither did I feel the cold while we sported thus), reclining and displaying his form to my gaze . There did I kneel before him at last, no impediments betwixt us. There did my fingers trace his antlers, his lips -- there did they twine with the ivy in his hair. There did he tumble me, and thought I there might be true striving at last, but only to take me deep into his mouth, blazing like the fire against the winter’s chill. And here, here did I understand, for I felt my desire rise like sap, from the earth through all of my veins, and I could not stop my hands from grasping him, tangling once more with his viney locks, and directing his work - now at leisure, now in haste. All his wild power trembled beneath my hands, and I thought I should spend -- but no, the forces that gripped me required yet more.

Off I threw him, rough in my longing, onto his back, and then flew I at him, a loving, lusting attack. My kisses sought to consume his swollen mouth - his yielding was better to me than strong ale, sweeter than honey, and this yielding stoked my fires. I tore at him, as I never should have my queen, teeth in his shoulder, rutting against his thigh like a wild creature. All of a moment, I slid into him, he urging me onward with a gasp. Well wot I that never would my course have run so smooth had I dallied thus with mortal man or maid...but my bedfellow was neither, and the ways of gods confound mortal kenning. 

Our coupling seemed to...ah, words are too paltry for it! We fucked - at last, the Saxons have given me something of use - we fucked as the stars whirled overhead and the moon sank in the sky. I sensed in each movement the sweetness of new snow, the bright wonder of birdsong on a winter morn, the rich joy of venison, fresh caught and roasted. My joys crested, and broke, just as the first rays stretched over the horizon, and I felt him spend, untouched, on my belly. Of a certainty, this was magic, for young though I am, I am yet mortal and cannot work as the hare, who mates ceaselessly through night and day alike. I had a moment of shame - for what generosity is it to pay no heed to my bedfellow’s pleasure? But his slow smile eased my fears.

“Ah, Arthur, Oak-King! A mighty victory you have won this night. Rich will be your reign, summer-gold, corn-gold, coin-gold. Your people shall rest in your shadow, and know themselves blessèd. And you shall have at your side winter’s spear, the thorn of holly that grows even in summer’s heat. Stand ye together, honor ye the same land, and thy reign shall be strong. And when thy leaves drop, summer king, doubt not that I shall find thee, and give thee surrender when at last thou seekest it.” He kissed my brow, and it was I that trembled this time, for I felt the power in it, my eyes closing in the light of his gaze. 

When I opened them, I saw him no more. Only my cloak spread under me, and the sounds of my men stirring from their enchanted sleep. I made shift to cover myself, and hastened to my tent, that my men might not see their liege all discomposed. We broke camp with great speed, riding with a good will back toward Camelot. Never had I been so eager to return to the daily toil of ruling my own dear land, and never had I missed the laugh of my Gwen - and the dark, quiet eyes of my Lance - so very much. As we rode, I swear upon my soul that I smelt the first flowers of spring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dear, dear mattador! I hope, most sincerely, that this is a variety of Arthuriana that meets with your approval. I enjoyed myself (perhaps too much) in the writing of this, and I hope it contributes to your Yuletide merriment.


End file.
